HDN: Respect
by Symantra
Summary: Somewhere in Leanbox, someone trains alone in a grassy field. Knowing that she must stand on equal ground with her rivals, whoever they might be, she devotes herself wholly to her art. But years away from becoming the CPU, she wonders if she will actually be able to wield her weapon with the power to lead a nation.


Vert, the up-and-coming CPU, leaned her weapon up against the low wall of her training grounds.

"Spears are heavy... and hard to use," she panted, gingerly touching her chafed palms. The skin on her hands was pink and sensitive.

Sore from training, her wrists cried out as she rolled them. When she had elected to train herself in the art of the spear, she had not predicted her weapon of choice to have so much weight to it. With every thrust, her guiding hand slid along the shaft of the spear until it was riddled with splinters and streaks of dirt. When she held her spear and attacked with a single hand, her wrist gave out and the spearhead tipped toward the ground.

Anything beyond basic techniques was also beyond her level of skill. Unlike the spear wielders who trained in dojos or acted in martial arts movies, she was unable to spin her spear like a rotor blade or whip it over her head with a single hand. Attempting to do so slowly ended up with her arms wavering, while attempting to do so swiftly ended up with her weapon flying out of her hands or hitting herself in the leg or the head. The latter had happened so many times that her shins were covered in bruises, and there were at least two bumps under her golden hair. After a grueling hour of struggling to become a combat-ready spear fighter, she was nowhere closer to being one.

Vert gave her spear a forlorn look. The King of Weapons, as spears were known as among traditional martial artists, stood taller than her by a few inches. A red tassel was lashed around the end of the shaft. Above it, a flat and leaf-shaped broadhead came to a point, unsharpened for training purposes.

Betrayed by her own weapon, she turned away and walked into her home to treat her hands and dry off her sweat. It was near lunchtime, and she would appreciate a refreshing drink as well as a meal.

 _ **Respect**_

Meadows on both sides of the road buzzed with bees and butterflies. The grass fell flat with every gust of wind like soldiers dodging enemy fire, then every blade of grass righted itself after the breeze had passed. A few clouds drifted about in the sky, some of them bearing wind spirits that sprawled lazily atop their sedans. Of course, they remained unseen by the humans walking on the ground. Only when someone came near did they pop their heads out and throw spiny chestnuts with mischievous grins.

The girl with silver hair walking down the road did not have any worry about that, though. The wind spirits tended to leave her alone, perhaps because of the one time she caught one of their projectiles with her bare hands and returned it to the sender. After that incident, she could walk to and from town without a single worry in the world.

On the outskirts of the town, there was a single house with a waterwheel and a low wall that partially enclosed the field in front. The girl walked past it every day, but she had never met the owner before. It was a nice house with a clean, homely appearance. White smoke rose from the chimney on occasion, so there was definitely someone living there.

The girl put her hand on the wall as she walked, and it slid over the smooth stone. But today, there was something different about the scene. A wax wood spear was propped against a post, its point hanging just above the road, right ahead of her.

"A spear user?" she wondered as she walked under the weapon. There was a fingerprint on the flattened point, and the braided tassel was frayed with hairs poking out in all directions. The spear shaft was rough and covered with dirt, finely made but poorly polished. A staff like that would do more pain to the holder than their opponent.

Seeing such a beautiful weapon undergo such neglect, the girl walked around the wall and stepped onto the field. Using both hands, she picked up the spear and held it upright, admiring its full height for a few seconds before laying it down parallel to the wall. She sat down with her back to the wall and crossed her legs, then picked up the spear and placed it in her lap.

For lack of an alternative, she ripped off part of her pants leg to use as a rag. Tearing her clothes was not something she worried much about, considering the worn condition of her blue gi pants already. She took the spearpoint and wiped the metal down until it shone. She put the rag down to her side and started to pick at the tassel. All the loose hairs she pulled, grooming the spear like it were her pet, and let the tightly knotted braids fall through her fingers. The thick threads tied around the spearhead served a double purpose: to make it difficult for an enemy to grab the spear mid-swing and to stop their blood from running down the shaft.

After the tassel had lost its disarrayed appearance, the girl picked up the rag again and started to clean the spear shaft. First she picked all the splinters—there were not many—before using the rag to wipe the wood clean. Dirt was easy to spot due to the light coloration of the wood. Some of the tougher spots refused to come off with the towel, so she used her fingernail to scrape them off before continuing.

When she was about halfway down the length of the spear, the door to the house opened and out stepped a tall blonde woman wearing a beautiful sea-green dress with black hems. Her hair was a sunbathed shade of gold, and it fell all around her shoulders down to the waistline of her dress.

The woman shut the door and turned around, spotting the girl holding the spear immediately. She looked surprised and walked over with her hands folded in front of her lap.

"Hello," she greeted with a polite nod. "Do you mind if I ask what you're doing with that?"

Gripping the spear in her left hand, the girl stood up and bowed.

"Cleaning it," she said as she lifted her head. "I was passing by and I noticed your spear leaning on the wall over there. It was so beautiful, but I noticed that it needed a little work. I just had to fix it up a little. I apologize if I've upset you."

"No, of course you haven't. How could I scorn such alacrity? Thank you for taking care of my weapon for me." The woman smiled. "May I ask your name?"

"Tekken," the girl answered readily. "And yours, ma'am?"

"Please, just call me Vert. You're so respectful that you make me feel older than I really am."

"Oh, sorry about that. I'm so used to addressing my instructors politely that I give everyone I meet an honorific now."

Wanting to finish the job she had started, Tekken talked didactically to Vert about the maintenance of her weapon. As she sat down and continued to remove the dirt from the shaft of Vert's spear, she guided her on how to take care of the head, tassel, and staff. Showing off even more of her experience, she gave the woman a few recommendations on replacing the tassel and the point.

"If you fight with it, the tassel may start to fall apart or dirty. So you'll have to buy a new one, and some stores will tie it for you if you bring your weapon in," Tekken explained. She pointed to the spearhead and the red braids. "Those braids aren't just for decoration. They distract your opponent, but they can come off if you pull hard enough."

Vert nodded, paying close attention to the girl's every word. "You're very knowledgeable on this subject," she commented as Tekken wiped the spear. "Judging from your uniform, I would guess that you practice martial arts."

"I do, actually." Tekken set the rag down and stood up, holding the spear vertical. "I'm a fourth degree black belt, but I haven't done much with a spear. I much prefer hand-to-hand combat."

Despite her modesty, the slim girl leveled the spear and lowered into a fighting stance. Her right hand guided as her left thrusted, utilizing the full length of the spear to strike at an imaginary enemy nearly two meters away. As she stepped back into her stance, her left hand snapped to her belt, and like a lever her other hand brought the point of the spear up. The spearpoint vibrated, looking as if it were made from something less rigid than wood.

Amazed, Vert watched with wordless veneration as the mysterious martial artist repeated the technique a few more times.

"One thing I can tell you about using a spear," the silver-haired Tekken said without a sideways glance, "is train your wrists and your hands. First get used to holding your weapon one way, but practice on both your left and right sides. If you train enough and develop your muscles, you'll be able to strike with only one arm."

With one last powerful repetition, she stood up and held the spear in two hands, offering it back to its owner. Vert nodded and held out her hands, repeating in her head the words of advice given to her by the passing martial artist. Tekken placed it gently in her grip.

"Your weapon is an extension of your body," she said. "Treat it with respect as you would yourself, or even more than that."

Her mind reeling from the girl's teachings, Vert held her weapon upright and looked it over from top to bottom. Then, planting the butt of her spear on the ground, she turned toward Tekken and bowed from her waist. With her eyes down, she spoke with all the honor she could muster.

"Thank you for training me today. I'll be sure to remember what I've learned."

When she raised her head, she was surprised to see Tekken face her and bow just as deeply. The silver-haired girl straightened up after a second and smiled.

"Don't mention it," she said humbly. "Someday we'll meet again. And if you remember me in a few years, maybe when you become the best spearmaster in Leanbox, then I'll have the honor of having been the first to train you."


End file.
